


Little Bird

by spittingfeathers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rating May Change, Sansa is 19, Shireen is 9, Stannis is 32, Starks are Shapeshifters, WIP, must protec, shireen is too good for this world, the AU we all need after s8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-02-27 08:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18735289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spittingfeathers/pseuds/spittingfeathers
Summary: A wolf could run and bite and howl, but a bird could fly.





	1. Chapter 1

_If I do not leave, I will die here_.

There was, in no reality, a way that she could escape on her own through the city streets. There was no battle to distract, nor valiant knight appearing in her room to whisk her away, and though it was night now, the darkness would conceal more than a lone maid attempting escape. 

Robb was still in the Riverlands winning battles against Lannister forces and Stannis Baratheon was mustering support for an attack, yet there was no intelligence as to when that would be. She could of course stay in the capital and wait for rescue, but she could expect the same ill treatment and perhaps _worse_ if she did.

_Rescue could be months away._ Sansa thought, _I’m not so sure I can take much more of this._

Sansa stood in front of her mirror and lifted her shift to trail the tips of her fingers along the darkening bruise at her side. Unfortunately this was nothing new; with each of Robb’s victories, she was called to the throne room and new bruises soon bloomed on her skin. Even the softest strike was enough to mark her pale skin and she feared what would come next. Joffrey had been playing with his new crossbow a great deal lately, and there were rumours Shae had passed on, of girls— _bodies_ —that had to be removed from the King’s Chambers. 

_They might have been whores, but I know he sees us all the same. Highborn or lowborn. As the King we are his to command, to torture, to kill._

_It could be me next._

The only man who could possibly reign in Joffrey was Tywin Lannister himself, and he was not in the capital. Time was running out and Sansa had a terrible feeling that Robb would only arrive in time to retrieve her body. She did not want that sight for him, nor that fate for her.

_I have to leave. I must do it now._

She didn’t have the Wolf Blood like Arya. She was delicate and sweet and obedient, singing pretty songs in pretty dresses and thanked Joffrey for being merciful when the King grew bored of ordering his guards to hit her. The Hound, who had not hit her so far, though likely because Joffrey had never ordered him to do so, had always called her _Little Bird_. He was right — more than he knew. She was not a wolf — something that had always been a point of contention between herself and Arya, their temperaments and interests being almost polar opposites. She had wished to be a wolf once, and she hoped that it was something that had come in time, but a wolf would not help her escape this. 

A wolf could run and bite and howl, but a bird could _fly_. 

_I am a little bird, and I will leave this place._

Sansa let her shift drop and moved slowly toward the window, each step sending pain shooting through her side. It felt all too easy to unhook the latch and push open the panes, her gauzy curtains fluttering in the warm breeze that flowed into her room, and though it pained her, her slippered feet found easy purchase on the stone sill. She could take nothing with her. 

What use did the sea have for jewels and dresses and dolls?

Her bones felt hollow, legs weak as she stood there, feeling the warm breeze tease her shift. Her feet ached inside her soft slippers and her shoulders rippled with pain as she forced them back and stretched out her arms. Sansa looked up at the dark starry sky instead of the sheer drop that hung beneath her high window.

_Let me fly. Let me soar amongst the stars. Let the wind take me far from this wretched place._

With every part of her aching, Sansa stepped from the sill, and fell.

*****

The wind was strong and the sea mirrored the dark sky which churned angrily, heralding another storm. Shireen had taken the chance to get some exercise and fresh air before she was once more confined inside. The last storm had hung over Dragonstone for three days and four nights, and knowing her luck the next would last for the same. It was a relief to be out of the castle; like she could finally breathe. There were so many people stuffed in the halls and rooms and meetings, preparing and planning for her father’s assault on King’s Landing. Once there, he would break the Lannister forces and take the Iron Throne. 

Shireen walked slowly along the black sands, her guards following at a discreet distance behind. Patchface hummed an odd tune beside her while Edric had rushed ahead to fight invisible foes with the piece of driftwood he’d found at the water’s edge.

Though she knew it was a ways off, the thought of leaving Dragonstone for King’s Landing was not a pleasant one. Though the decoration left something to be desired, the stone dragons often featuring in her nightmares when she was younger, she had a fondness for them which surpassed the opulent luxury of the Red Keep. Dragonstone’s dangers were obvious, open for all to see. King’s Landing was full of false smiles and hidden knives, just waiting for the opportunity to strike. Her father had hated it intensely, which made it tragic that he would claim the ugly chair as his own. It was his right, his duty…but he did not want it, and truthfully, nor did she.

_I would have liked being a Lord’s daughter. Even as I am now. Of Dragonstone, or Storm’s End, if Uncle Renly would ever be sensible enough to give it up when he and father meet._

The bannermen of the stormlands should rightfully come to her father’s banner, and yet they supported his younger brother, Renly Baratheon instead. Surely they could see that it would set a precedent for second or even third sons taking over from their heirs? Or was it the numbers and the wealth of the Tyrells that drew them in? Did they see her father on the losing side should he face them in battle, some might even switch sides if they believe the battle might not go their way…

_Idiots and cowards all._

A surprised yell caught her attention up ahead. Edric, using his driftwood sword was poking something upon the ground. It was neither stone, nor shell and stood out starkly against the black sands in a bundle of feathers. Shireen hurried toward her cousin, curious at what he had found. As soon as she was close enough to see what it was Shireen let out a gasp.

“Stop it, Edric! You’ll hurt it!”

Shireen batted the driftwood sword away and crouched low, her dress readily soaking up water while grains of sand clung to the hem.

The poor thing was in bad shape. Still alive, but exhausted. It couldn’t have been there long - likely caught in the storm…if they left it there on the sand the incoming tide would drown it, which would be a shame because it looked a pretty thing. Larger than a song bird with strange copper coloured feathers. It struggled weakly against the sand and Shireen’s heart ached for the creature.

However, Shireen was not one to hesitate, and demanded Edric’s cloak. 

With a swift, but gentle hand, Shireen laid the cloak atop the bird and scooped it up. The bird squawked strangely but Shireen had safely pinned its wings to the side of its body with the fabric so it could not struggle and hurt itself. 

Fascinated that the creature was still alive, and their antics having caught the attention of the guards who now hurried toward them, Shireen and Edric moved quickly back the way they came, wondering whether Cressen would be in his rooms or with _King Stannis_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the majority of this chapter today so consider this an early gift! Happy Holidays!  
> Unbeta'd as usual, all mistakes are mine :)  
> I'll be adding more chapters when they're ready...

Sansa ached. 

She felt bruised from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes - or in this case, the tips of her talons. Her vision swirled, her head pounded, and her limbs felt weak enough that it was an effort to move even an inch. The girl spoke softly, carrying her with gentle arms and sure steps across the beach. To her home, Sansa hoped, glad that she had been saved from the boy with the big stick.

She listened to the children chatter with a hazy focus as they climbed up a wide set of stairs cut into the cliffs, the rocking motion of being carried soothed her, and she felt safe enough and tired enough in the careful grip of the girl that she allowed her eyes to drift closed...

It seemed to only have been mere moments since she closed her eyes but the next time Sansa opened them, the girl was gone and she was in a cage. 

It was large, similar to the ones they’d had to keep the ravens when they were sick, back in Winterfell. Yet, Sansa was too tired to be alarmed at the state of her accommodation and was tempted to fall back to sleep, the warmth of the room clouding her senses, so it was with great effort she lifted her head to look around. 

The cloak she had been wrapped in had been changed for a thicker blanket to soften the floor of the cage. It was soft and smelled of lavender. There was an empty plate, and a small bowl filled with water beside her that she immediately dipped her beak to drink. She sipped at it, chirping in annoyance when the level dipped and she could not get the rest. With her thirst quenched her eyes drooped and she felt ready to sleep again, yet when a rustling from the corner of the room made her look up, still weak, she trembled with the effort.

“Ah, awake are we…”

At the other side of the room, an old man sat hunched over at a desk. He wore a Maester’s robe and chain and his hair was white and wispy, the length just shy of brushing his shoulders. 

He pulled back from his desk and picked up a tiny plate that emanated the most delicious smell, shuffling over to her and speaking quietly all the while. His eyes were kind, Sansa thought, and she could see the way laughter had creased his face like the pages of a well-loved book.

When he brought the plate closer her stomach tightened with hunger and she shuffled on the blanket, struggling to sit up and eat when he put the pieces, one by one, onto the empty plate beside her water bowl. She tried to savour them, but her hunger overwhelmed her. The rich flavour of the meat a revelation compared to the fare she’d eaten since leaving the Red Keep. Bugs and grubs, a few mice, several small birds and a rabbit which she had held jealously in her claws until there was nothing left.

Her escape had been exhilarating…yet utterly terrifying.

She’d never flown before, in fact, she’d never managed a complete transformation. A few feathers here and there and sharper eyesight but never the full thing. 

It was lucky…if she had not managed to transform, she would have died when she hit the ground beneath her window. 

She’d only fallen for a moment before the indescribable feeling of being free had flooded her hollow bones and she’d soared. High. Higher. Up into the clouds and then down again to catch the currents in the wind, carrying her away from the red keep, over the tiled roofs of King’s Landing and past the sails of the ships in Blackwater Bay. 

The Maester tilted his head to look at her, curious. “You must have come a long way.” He murmured, “I’ve never seen such colouring…”

If she had the energy, and not been so focused on eating, she might have preened at the praise. Her form had always been a point of contention between herself and Arya, often brought up when they were being particularly vicious toward one another.

_What sort of Stark are you? Starks are wolves, not birds!_

Arya had been adamant that she was a wolf, but she had never managed a transformation, full or partial. At 16, Sansa had been the youngest to manifest parts of her form - copper feathers, soft and lovely, the exact shade of her hair, forming along her arms and down her neck…

She never could have anticipated how amazing it felt to fly. It was beyond anything she could have imagined — like all her worries had been left behind on the ground.  _Like she never wanted to change back._  

It was difficult to fly for long periods, she had been a little shaky until she gained confidence, testing her abilities and resting often when the new movements made her muscles ache too much. She managed to skirt the coast some, resting when she could in the branches of sturdy trees, trying desperately to remember in which direction she should fly. 

At first, it was just along the coast. As far away from King’s Landing as she could get. Then as the days turned into weeks, she became more and more upset with herself that she had decided against using the King’s Road. They would have been looking for Sansa Stark, a tall red-haired  _woman_ , not the large red bird of prey looking for mice and rabbits to sink her talons into. T

he transformations were a Stark secret, and as she hadn’t present before they’d left the North, no one would have been able to identify her either way.

Yet, when she had tried to turn away and find the King’s Road to travel home…Sansa feared to lose her way completely. If anyone had asked, she could have listed all the Houses, their words, their Lords, their Heirs and in which lands they lived, but pointing out locations on a map was very different to travelling it herself and after a while, all trees and fields begin to look the same.

She knew if she flew inland her risk of getting turned around would be high, but, if she flew along the coast she would be able to use it as a guide until she reached the North - which she would reach eventually. 

 _I could have been in the Bay of Crabs by now..._  

Yet here she was, in a cage, being fed by a Maester, with no guarantees that she would ever get home because she didn’t have the sense, or patience to take shelter from a storm. 

She’d become anxious during the day, having been chased by a larger bird belonging to a group of ladies out Hawking. Back in Winterfell and the early days of their time in King's Landing, she'd quite enjoyed it. Now, she didn't like it too much at all.

Rather than risk another encounter, or stop and rest, she'd chosen to keep flying through the night when the storm had set in. She'd lost her way all too quickly. Fierce winds, unlike any she’d flown in before, had thrown her out to sea, and flying above the water, there were no places to rest. With no choice at all, she kept flying. 

Terror kept the exhaustion at bay until finally, a sharp crack of lightning revealed an island.

 She had fallen from the sky, too exhausted to make it any further, and hit the beach, slipping into unconsciousness in the blink of an eye.

 _I have gone from one cage to another,_  she thought miserably, unable to help the sad chirp that escaped.

The Maester clicked his tongue and gave her another piece of meat. It was gone in a moment. She was still so hungry. And tired.

She looked from the Maester to the empty plate in front of her and tapped it sharply with her beak. Not very polite, but he seemed to get the message and chuckled softly, placing another piece before her.

When the meat was gone, and the Maester had refilled her bowl, Sansa tucked her head beneath her wing and listened to the Maester go back to his desk and begin to write. 

She fell asleep to the sound of his quill scratching against parchment. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The holidays are perfect for writing :D Haven't been able to finish anything in a while so hope you're enjoying this one as much as I am!

Far more aware, though still incredibly tired from her crash landing, Sansa observed both Edric and Shireen from her nest of blankets as they pursued their lessons with as much attention as children could muster when an injured bird resided in the same room. 

Maester Cressen seemed to have endless patience with the two, helping them focus every time they looked her way. “We must be quiet — she’s still very weak so we must allow her to rest and attend to your lessons. She will still be there by the time they are done.”

“And then can we feed her?” Edric asked.

Cressen smiled, “And then you may feed her.” 

Sansa had been here for two days already, this being the third, and much of her anxiety had faded away as she got to know her rescuers. 

Every few hours Maester Cressen would arrive to feed her, make sure her water bowl was full and then let her sleep some more. Then, in the mornings when Shireen and Edric took their lessons, and between their own tasks like sword training and statecraft, she would be visited by them. They would take turns feeding her and cooing at her and wishing desperately that they could get her out of the cage to hold, wondering whether the King would let them keep her. Sansa was greatly amused by the names they suggested for her, Red Wing and Glory were her favourites of course, and she learnt much of their lives when they spoke to her, wondering what they would do if they knew she could understand them.

She learnt that she had landed on Dragonstone, which meant that Shireen was _Shireen Baratheon_ , daughter to King Stannis Baratheon the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and Edric was King Robert’s bastard son. Sansa scolded herself that she had not realised it sooner, as although she had noticed the scarring on her cheek, hadn’t realised it was greyscale. Her sight as a bird was far superior to her human eyes. She could see more colours, they were brighter, more vibrant, and the scarring had glittered whenever it caught the light. 

Truthfully she had spent more time looking at the Princess’ eyes. They were a deep, stormy blue, beautiful, and Sansa loved to watch the colours in them shift whenever she came close to the cage to speak to her. 

The first day of her recovery in her cage she didn’t feel strong enough to leave it. 

The second day she worked out how to unlatch it when Cressen was sleeping, but the movement had tired her significantly and so she resolved to try again the next day when she found it latched once more. 

On the morning of the third day, she felt much better and decided that she would stretch her wings a little and allow the children to pet her. They had been very good, and bar their first meeting where Edric had poked her with the stick believing she was dead, they had not stuck their fingers through the bars as she expected. Sansa imagined her own siblings would not have had such restraint.

Edric and Shireen gasped when she struggled to her feet, squawking rather sharply when her legs gave out beneath her. She tried again…and fell flat on her face.

She trilled exasperatedly into the lavender smelling blanket upon hearing the children’s giggles and whispers as they left Cressen’s desk, abandoning their lessons and came closer. Cressen followed quickly behind them.

Since her transformation, she hadn’t spent much time walking in her bird form at all and the weight balance was all wrong. But she would not give up. 

“Come on Red Wing, you can do it!” Edric whispered excitedly. 

Shireen beamed at her, “You’re doing so well! Just a little more!”

With a huff and a few ruffled feathers, she finally stood on shaky legs. Edric and Shireen grinned widely at each other, and then, when she leant forward and unlatched the cage, their delight turned to awe. She stuck her head out of the door and chirped at them, tilting her head to the side to amuse them and chase the fear away. She was well aware of the wicked curve of her beak and her size (that of a large hawk) would likely startle them.

But the two children giggled again, Cressen looking a cross between alarmed and amused, when she shuffled out of the cage and onto the desk. 

Suddenly, the door opened and in strode a tall scowling man whose presence in the room seemed to smother all hilarity in an instant as Shireen, Edric and Cressen turned their guilty faces toward him.

*****

Stannis arrived at the Maester’s tower to speak with Cressen, only to stop short of opening the door when he heard the sound of children giggling.

Cressen had been absent from dinner the last few days, taking meals in his rooms and seemed more weary than usual when they crossed paths. With Pylos taking over the majority of his duties, the castle hadn’t suffered for it, but the old Maester’s sudden decline in health troubled him. Stannis was busy of course, The Iron Throne would not reclaim itself, yet a part of him feared for the man who had cared for him as his own son.

The giggling was curious, however, if Cressen was ill then he shouldn’t be entertaining visitors.

A sudden squawk and whispers made him frown. 

What is going on?

He entered the room, ready to order the children away so that Cressen might rest when he encountered a curious sight.

Stannis had taken one look at the bird, brightly coloured but large with shining feathers that ranged from copper all the way to the deepest red, and knew immediately this was the source of his friend’s fatigue.

“Father!” She looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes and began to ramble the entire sorry tale amidst pleads that she be allowed to keep it.

“Red Wing was injured — we couldn’t leave her — it’s our duty to see her well again!”

It felt as though Stannis was looking into the past, where a young boy had begged to keep the injured Goshawk he’d named Proud Wing. 

Proud Wing had never recovered fully and had never flown higher than the treetops. Would this be more of the same? Another disappointment for his daughter when she realised that once injured, the bird would never be the same. 

An echo of his own stifled sobs played in his head when he remembered being forced to get rid of it, knowing that without him, his Goshawk would die in the wild.

“We were going to ask you tonight at dinner, Your Grace.” Cressen began apologetically, likely knowing the direction his thoughts had turned. “I wanted to be sure the bird would live through the night before the Princess asked your permission to keep it.”

“Would it not be kinder to put the thing out of its misery?” His voice was hard, he saw how its legs trembled. 

Cressen shook his head, “I believe it is simply hungry and very tired. To have survived such a fierce storm was no easy task I am sure.”

The bird clicked it’s beak and trilled in agreement as though the thing could understand the conversation and began to walk across the desk in front of the cage. It acted more like a fledgeling than the mature bird he believed it to be.

He watched as the bird flexed its wings and seemed to wince at the movement. “So nothing is broken?”

“No. The bird is also quite tame and has some training. It is rather friendly for it’s kind.”

_He’s trying to persuade me_ , Stannis thought, catching the hopeful look his daughter shared with Edric. 

_Cressen could not deny her anything, they had planned to ask me. Fool that I am, I cannot deny her either._

“Go fetch me the falconer’s glove and I’ll show you how to hold her properly.”  Stannis sighed and Shireen beamed, knowing that he had all but given them permission to keep the damn thing. 

Edric was almost vibrating with energy, yet Shireen gripped his arm, thanked him and they made their way calmly to the door, only once it was closed did the two begin to run.

“Cressen.” Stannis scolded lightly when they were alone, “You must stop these unnecessary risks. It could have taken your eyes out quicker than you could have called for help.” 

“I have not lost all my wits yet, Your Grace. I took the proper precautions.” He huffed, “Either way Shireen and Edric have named her Red Wing so it is already too late to avoid attachment.”

_Of course, they had named the blasted creature. They would not be rid of it now._ _Gods forbid the thing should die._

Stannis scowled as he looked it over, noticing that Shireen had donated one of her own blankets to make a bed for it.

It was a bizarre thing, out of place in the dark and dreary halls of Dragonstone. Beautiful. It was not a breed he recognised, and with such colouring, it was likely something from the summer isles than anything native to Westeros. It was the size of a large hawk and intelligent eyes stared at him as watched it. It seemed well behaved…for now.

“This is what’s keeping you from sleeping.” He stated. Cressen had opened his mouth to argue, aside from Davos he was the only man who could ever get away with such an act, but Stannis cut him off. “You will sleep, I will look after the bird tonight.”

“Your Grace—”

“Shall I make it a command? You will rest Cressen. Be assured I know what to do, at least in this I have had plenty of practice.”

**Author's Note:**

> Season 8 is a big ole YIKES so far so I'm soothing my soul with fanfic.  
> This is one of my WIPS that I might come back to later on. I'm marking as done for now because I've left it SO open but life seems to get in the way so anyone's welcome to take the idea and run with it haha :')


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